


The Scouting Party

by MercuryGray, MontmartreParapluie



Series: An Agreeable Consort [2]
Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Dancing, Espionage, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Overheard Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7228279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontmartreParapluie/pseuds/MontmartreParapluie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from 3.06 -- Ben Tallmadge confers with Mrs. Washington on something that's been troubling him this evening -- the matter of Miss Peggy Shippen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scouting Party

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Mrs. General](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7073716) by [MercuryGray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray). 



> At the end of 3.6, Ben has such a thoughtful, confused look on his face, like he’s riddling through something, and there wasn’t quite enough in the episode too back that up. So we have this -- a little bit more anteroom drama. And of course, more of the incomparable Mrs. Washington, without whom I think much more would be lost.

Ben watched the parlor with a careful eye, following the bright dresses of the women weaving in and out of the figure. He'd survived his own turn on the floor with Miss Shippen, but only just -- Wethersfield had hardly boasted a grand assembly room, and Setauket was hardly the kind of town to hold dances. But there had been some hard-won practice in New Haven -- though the company was usually a little more boisterous than what was assembled here.

 

"You are not dancing, Major," a woman's voice observed with just the barest hint of teasing in it.

 

Ben coughed, desperately afraid some Philadelphia acquaintance of Miss Shippen had decided to tease the country Continental. He sagged in evident relief when he saw the diminutive figure, neat as a china figure in her green brocade. Not a foe, then -- rather the furthest thing from it.  'I fear I'm hardly up to the task, ma'am. I was near bested by General Arnold's fiancee in the gauloise as it was...'

 

"Did not Doctor Franklin say that half a truth is often a great lie?" Martha Washington observed with a smile. Ben had to blush a little. She was always good at winkling out the truth. Arnold must have invited her as a courtesy to his commanding officer - now that the army was once again in winter quarters, it was Mrs. Washington’s habit to join her husband in whatever encampment he made his home - to the relief of both Washington and his aides. All problems seemed much more surmountable when Mrs. General was in camp -- and all ballrooms infinitely more welcoming with the promise of such an ally. "I thought you did uncommonly well, for someone 'not up to the task'. But I cannot fault you for standing out if the exercise makes you uncomfortable. I know the General would join you, if he were permitted." Her gaze drew to her husband, partnering yet another one of Miss Shippen's innumerably acquaintances around the floor. "He does love a dance, but to be in constant attendance at it is rather tiring." 

 

The way she spoke, and the longing glance she threw in her husband’s direction, made Ben realize that she was speaking, also, of herself. Six months apart, and still separated, by a dance floor and a sea of admirers. How that must have hurt! 

 

'It is testament to the General's popularity though, is it not, ma'am?' Ben said earnestly, with a touching attempt at gallantry. 'And a very great compliment...'

 

“When a man walks into a room and finds himself universally called upon and feted by all, it is the greatest of compliments,” Martha acknowledged. “One usually reserved for the host, at houses like this.”

 

Ben nodded, having little experience with ‘houses like this’ and their usual standards of practice, but it seemed reasonable to him. Thier host was throwing a splendid party- but he had noticed, with a touch of uneasiness, a few dark looks scudding across Arnold's face as he surveyed the doings from his corner, his wound limiting his participation in the dance. But his look was far darker than a man disappointed to be missing the pavane, and his eyes followed Washington throughout the room.  The man set Ben's teeth on edge, somehow, although he was at a loss to know why Arnold should be displeased with Washington, of all people… Surely he’s not jealous. 

 

He found himself studying the room for another sign of Arnold, catching sight of him across the room. Still brooding. "Something vexes you, Major." Ben suddenly remembered he was neglecting his companion. Martha was smiling at him with a knowledgeable look -- one that he'd come to know well over the winter at Valley Forge, the kind so common to mothers who seem to know, without asking, everyone's secrets

 

Ben trusted Mrs Washington - a feeling he scarcely remembered save with his own mother. Her constant correspondence with her husband gave her a reasonably informed idea of current politics and political affairs, and her instincts, as well as her powers of observation, were good ones. In the ballroom, as in camp, he felt as though he were standing on surer ground when she was present. She wasn't like the sharp-witted, brittle Philadelphia misses - like Miss Shippen, with her arch manner  and insinuating airs. She was very beautiful, true, but there was something guarded and calculating about her manner, even when being the blushing fiance. Mrs General wasn't like that at all. He opened his mouth, trying to think how to phrase it - and saw, from one expressive glance of Mrs Washington's eyes, that he didn't need to say it. She knew. She felt it too. That sense that something was a little... awry - like a wrong note being played in a piece of chamber music. Something discordant amongst all the pleasant harmony...

 

"Our...host seems...a little out of sorts," he ventured, trying to phrase this delicately, as it were, his voice as low as he thought her hearing might allow. "And Miss Shippen...does not."  How lightly she’d lead him through the dance, without a care on her face to trouble her. Not the behavior he’d expect from a young lady with a brooding fiance.

 

"Ah, so you noticed, too," Martha said quietly. "Yes, she seems remarkably untroubled by the General's malaise. I know if my husband were so ill at ease at a party, at  _ my _ party, I should be doing something to change it."

 

'She seems rather...detached,' Ben murmured, watching the elegant figures on the dance floor. 'For someone... in love.' They were both watching Miss Shippen now, he and the general's wife. Miss Shippen had idly coquetted with him briefly before the dance - but it was with the studied, cold manner of a marksman practicing his aim on a straw mannequin. He was merely target practice; something to aim at. He voiced something he would hardly have dared voice, even to Caleb. 'She frightens me.'

 

"As she should frighten anyone, if he has sense," Mrs. Washington replied soundly. Ben could not help but stare. He didn't think he'd ever heard Martha speak badly of anyone. She smiled at his surprise.  "Perhaps she did not like you because she could not charm you," she offered with a suggestive tilt to her voice. The intelligence officer stared, and she let out a brief chuckle. "I was a young woman once, too, Major -- I remember what it is like to be pretty and twenty and have the world at your feet. It does not always bring out the best in women.   And of course, she is courted by all. She expects universal adoration -- which I am sure she gets. I seem to recall reading that she was quite close with the Royal Army, when they were here."

 

Ben was surprised. 'I had not heard that...' he pondered. 'I knew her father was. But I assumed that was merely the convenience of the moment, being occupied...' He looked over at Arnold - and saw the man's gaze fixed on his fiance. Ben had once seen a stunned calf, right before the butcher's knife slit his throat. Arnold looked something like that. A sort of hopeless, stunned longing marked his face whenever he looked at pretty, witty Peggy Shippen, soon-to-be Arnold. 'Do you think he knows that? Arnold?'

 

"If he does, he certainly ignores it. I have found men will ignore all manner of objections, if they want a thing enough. Women are much less forgiving. We ignore nothing if we find it objectionable."

 

Mrs. Washington’s words hit him like a gunshot, and he felt stunned, vulnerable again. She had been right, coming up to him - something  _ was _ vexing him, but it wasn’t Arnold alone, or Miss Shippen. He’d been thinking, idly, of another blonde head and another woman’s face as he observed Peggy across the room, another woman who had seen no problem in making her objections known to a man who was prepared to ignore all of his. Sarah Livingston was heavy in his mind, and had been since his unfortunate trip to New Jersey. How would she have dressed, for a party like this? Surely she had a gown of some prominence she might have worn (though nothing, perhaps, as fine as what Mrs. Washington had on.) 

 

He had found himself doing that often of late, imagining her where she was not -- he saw her at the bake-house, with Anna, and hanging laundry on the line with the other women. Sometimes he saw her sitting in his tent, legs hanging off the side of his cot, waiting for him. A dangerous exercise, he knew -- and yet he still came back to it, sometimes. As he had been doing when Mrs. General had spied him out. 

 

She had always been good at seeing what people did not want seen.

 

"I often wonder what she sees in him," she added, studying Peggy's profile under the candles of the chandelier.

 

Ben wrenched himself back to the present moment. "...A war hero, a decorated soldier, a dashing companion?" he offered, a little flummoxed by her comment.. Apart from his general air of indignation this evening, what would make him less desirable? Arnold was all of those things, and more -- a great commander, a presence in the field, excellent company at table and highly regarded by his commander in chief.

 

Besides, although Arnold's fits of temper were legendary in-camp - any common sentry who had seen the post deliver merchant's bills to Arnold could tell you so - he was hardly likely to be so with Miss Shippen. He was the picture of an elegant, hopelessly devoted betrothed, watching her amongst the glitter and garlands. But... in itself... Ben found himself pondering that. Arnold was deep in debt already, simply through the costs of outfitting himself for war. It was common enough knowledge -- and the constant tirades against those merchant’s bills where everyone could hear would bear him out. Was not all this - the silken guests, the beeswax tapers, the shining mahogany and cherrywood - a little... much? And surely, Ben reasoned (a touch naively, it is true) surely any girl in love would understand a little monetary prudence in times of war? General Arnold might as well have piled up his banknotes and set them ablaze in the hearth, for what the party was sure to  be costing…

 

What did a woman wish to see? The question vexed him considerably, and, again, his mind drew back to Sarah. What would she have wanted, if they had met in other circumstances? What would have set him out to her? What set any man apart from his peers? 

 

"What did you see in the General, ma'am -- if I may ask?" Ben asked, catching sight of Washington across the room, obliging yet another admirer. For had not he not also heard that Mrs. Washington had been of sizeable fortune herself, when the General had married her?  What did it take to win a woman like the Lady Washingtons of this world -- and, by extension, the Peggy Shippens, too?

 

Martha smiled fondly, finding her husband across the room. "A poor, firstborn son of a second marriage who'd turned himself into a great leader of men," she remembered. "Tall, handsome, and exceedingly amiable -- and an excellent dancer.  But not solely defined by his lack of fortune -- or his seeming ability to overcome it. A man of moderation. I could have had all else from other suitors, but I wished for that that most. And he made me smile with nearly every word." Her eye went back to Peggy, taking a rest now on her fiancee's arm. "Miss Shippen does not smile when  _ he  _ speaks. Which is what makes  _ me _ wonder."

 

Now Ben came to notice it, what Mrs. Washington said was true. Peggy did not smile. Oh, occasionally a light, cool expression flittered across her doll's face - but it never reached her eyes. Her eyes were cold. Whereas Mrs Washington - Ben looked at her, from the tail of his eye - you could certainly not accuse Mrs Washington of being cold. She was dignified but warm - and even after what, twenty years of marriage? She and the General were like china bookends - complimenting each other by their difference, supporting each other. Whereas Arnold - Arnold had a tight, possessive grip about Miss Shippen's waist; and the Philadelphia heiress seemed to avoid touching him where she could help it - always grazing his sleeve or his jacket rather than his hand.They were not... comfortable.

 

'Still... I suppose not every couple can set an example like you and the General, madam,' Ben said, attempting a note of gallantry.

 

Mrs. Washington nodded in agreement. "True enough. But when a woman has options, there must be a reason for why she settles. And what those reasons may be for Miss Shippen I am sure I could not say."

 

The conversation came to a halt just as the next dance drew to a close, all the couples having finally crossed the room, and one figure, in particular, beat a very hasty retreat from the floor before he could be ensnared for another round. "Major, I hope you are not boring my wife,"  Washington announced with uncharacteristic levity in his voice,  obviously having absorbed some of the spirit of the dance

 

'I trust not, Sir!' Ben bowed, noticing how fondly Martha took her husband's arm. Her hand had slid gently between coat and shirt-sleeve, brushing the inside of his wrist in a warm, steadying gesture. Not so giddy, George, it almost seemed to say. 'I would venture to say Mrs Washington has been most patient with me. I fear I will make no dancer, Sir,' he added ruefully. 'Or at least no very elegant figure.'

 

"Major Tallmadge and I were scouting the company for you, my dear," Martha joked. "You complained of poor spies to Mr. Reed earlier and I thought we should remedy it." 

 

Her husband smiled. "And what have you found?" he asked, looking at her as though he fully expected for her to have solved the war in his absence.

 

"That Miss Shippen's friends are remarkably glib, and that at least one of them has a  _ tendresse _ for Major Tallmadge here," Martha said, without batting an eyelash. Ben almost let his jaw drop at her boldness. If he'd lied earlier, that was nothing compared to what Martha Washington was doing now.

 

And she did it with such laughing precis that even Ben half-believed it himself. His blushing incoherence only added to the evident truth, for both husband and wife were now smiling amiably at his discomfiture.'Why, Major, you blush like a young girl!'

 

"It is only that I am certain she walked by wishing to be overheard," he managed. "I may have hurt her feelings in not responding as I was expected to. And I...hardly have time for such things."

 

There was a gentle, barely perceptible flash of approval from Mrs Washington's eyes at his managing to keep up. Ben founding himself wishing half his contacts were as quick of understanding as Mrs General. It would make his life much easier. And clearly now was not the time to share those peculiar social observations. Not with Washington happier than Ben had seen him for months. Still. The doubt remained, even as Washington tenderly let his wife over to the punch bowl, that Mrs Washington and he had stumbled upon some society secret. Arnold and Miss Shippen... now there was a riddle to be solved…

 

And, while he was thinking of such things, how should she have known his name, of the dozens of officers with whom Arnold worked? He, Benjamin Tallmadge, of no particular family connection or high rank -- save that of his office. Yet she had found him, in a house crowded with guests, picked him out and addressed him by name. He knew he was thought a handsome man, but not quite handsome enough for that kind of attention, especially from an affianced woman.

 

Perhaps Arnold - ever effusive when it came to praise of officers - had mentioned his real role? But then Arnold scarce knew what that entailed. He was simply one of Washington's many young aides-de-camp. Somehow, Benjamin found himself inwardly wincing at the idea that Miss Shippen knew about him, if not the network he had been so careful to preserve. It made him feel as though there was a knife twisting gently between his ribs. And she was close to the Royal Army, was she? When they still held Philadelphia…

 

It was strange, that he should trust that Martha Washington would do nothing wrong with her intelligence of him and his position, but that Miss Shippen would invite the opposition reaction. He had spent more time with Martha, true, but even in their limited connections, he knew, intimately, that she wanted only what was best for her husband. With Miss Shippen he got no such assurance. In fact, he was realizing, he got quite the opposite. She would do nothing for Arnold -- any action she took would be purely for herself.

 

You could not help but admire such unabashed self-interest, Ben found himself thinking. In a man it would be called ambition. In Miss Shippen, it was hard to guess what her motivation was. She wasn't star-stuck by Arnold's gallant reputation, and she was certainly richer by far. If it wasn't money or reputation that she hunted... What was her real quarry?

 

He had little time to think on it, at least without interruption, moving aside for two ladies, deep in conversation on their way to the refreshments.“...and of course there are plenty of officers to admire.” Mrs. Washington’s jokes about tendresses still heavy on his mind, Ben couldn’t help but listen to the young women passing behind him.

 

“Officers, I agree, but none to admire, I think. They are a rather plain lot, I find -- and so old! I had no idea General Washington was so advanced in years!”

 

“It is the powder in his hair; his wife is quite younger than I expected.”

 

“And Becky Franks, too -- did you hear she sat with her and Betsy Shippen for near ten minutes and they never knew it was her!”

 

"But my dear!' brayed her companion affectedly, 'Where are their eyes?! Did they not see her point lace? Probably more than Becky Franks's whole dowry, poor thing. She'll be an old maid. Even the King's officers didn't take a shine to her. They say that dashing Major Andre was stationed here all winter and danced with her twice -- at Peggy’s suggestion, of course, poor thing.”'

 

It took all of Ben's self control not to turn 'round at the name Andre, and he contented himself with advancing a few discreet footsteps in the same direction as the young ladies, to all outward appearances merely another young gentleman vying for a better view of the dance floor.

 

'Well, of course it was at Peggy’s suggestion! Andre would not have looked twice at Becky -- not when he had Peggy firm in his sights. It was all over town, you know. Her father invited him to tea with his lawyers -- and you know what that means."

 

'Lord, it got that far?' There was another tart giggle from behind a fan. 'You can't say Major Andre isn't ambitious, then. Daring Mr Shippen and his host of attorneys. Why on earth didn't it come off? After all...' There was a note of contempt in the young lady's voice as she flicked her glance over General Arnold standing by the fire. 'Really, to jilt Andre for that mongrel fellow... they say his father was an apothecary!'

 

"And they say Mr. Reed is out for his blood - some business with Army provisions. Father was speaking of it to Uncle Steven the other day, but I did not pay it much heed."

 

They wandered off, idle as mayflies towards the punch table, still chattering away. Ben wondered if he should follow, his mind racing. That was intelligence he would have given worlds to know three months ago - and here it was, dropped like cake crumbs at a dinner party where anyone could hear. _ I must know more, _ he thought, hastily. But how? Maybe this Miss Franks was the answer, although amongst the throng of ladies, she would be difficult to pick out. Half of the Shippens’ elegant circle of acquaintance were here, as well as many Continental Officers as Arnold could cram into his house. And their wives. How to find her?

 

Wait -- the answer was right in front of him. She said Miss Franks had spoken to Mrs. Washington. And if anyone could be expected to remember the name of a new acquaintance, even one so slight as a ballroom introduction, it was Martha Washington.

 

Ben edged crabwise through the sea of brocaded coats and lutestring silks as though crawling through a thicket of obstacles until he reached Mrs Washington's side. The General had retreated a few steps from his wife and had been immediately surrounded by a sea of eager young officers anxious to make acquaintance with the great man. There was no better opportunity to hand.

 

"Mrs. Washington, might I...beg another moment of your time?" Ben asked.  She turned, and in the split second before she smiled Ben could see that she was growing weary of her husband's well-wishers. 

 

"Beg nothing, Major -- it is given freely."

 

"I understand...you spoke earlier to a Miss Franks, an...acquaintance of Miss Shippen's." Ben saw the unspoken question in Mrs Washington's eyes. 'I don't ask an introduction,' he said hastily. 'But…” He paused, and spoke lower. 'I heard a name mentioned in connection with Miss Shippen here tonight, ma'am. The name of ...John Andre. I don't know how much your husband shares with you, but... this may interest him as well as the army if I can learn more.'

 

Martha's eyes were bright with interest, her irritation with her husband's entourage gone. "Miss Franks, you say?" she looked amused at that. " "The young lady in the rust-colored gown, just there.” She nodded with an imperial gaze across the room, a bright-haired young woman swaying unsteadily about the doorway to the dancing, glass to hand. “Doubtless you will find her a willing informant --She was...a little worse for wear earlier this evening."

 

'Ah.' Ben looked across the room again and made a quick observation. "Worse for wear" was putting it mildly. Had Miss Franks been a man, someone would have moved the decanter (and possibly any pistol she possessed) away from her. There was a hectic, reckless look in her eyes. 'I thank you. I think she may know something of the... acquaintances the future Mrs Arnold had whilst the army was stationed here...'

 

"And here you looked to be having no fun at the party," Martha observed with a smile. “By the by, Major, if I may...add to your intelligence." she pulled herself closer. "She struck me as a young woman unhappy in Miss Shippen's shadow. One might use that, if one wished to move her into introductions." She smiled briefly. “Shall I get a report, too, of your findings?”  _ So that I may share it with my husband, if you cannot?  _

 

Ben smiled at that. How often did she ask to be kept informed of his doings when they were in camp? And how often had he obliged her? “Never doubt it, madam.”

 

He bowed and left her in attendance on her husband, slipping around the dancers and pausing, for a moment, to collect himself in the hall, his mind harkening back to his days in New Haven with Nathan, surveying the girls from one side of the room while they chattered and smirked behind their fans. A young lady who felt slighted by her friend, who was known to be late to the marriage market. Polite interest in her, conversational mention of Peggy, just enough to show he was possibly interested but using her to get to her freind. That should be enough to move her into a more vindictive frame of mind, annoyed enough that she just might give him the answer to this most interesting of questions -  _ Just how close was Margaret Shippen with the head of British Intelligence?  _

 

Becky Franks was indeed terribly worse for the wear, the careful curls of her hair askew as if adjusted with an unpracticed or unsteady hand, her flower nearly falling out, glass close to hand, warily watching the dancers.

 

“Excuse me, Miss -- is this seat taken?” Ben asked, bowing a little and gesturing to the chair adjacent to Becky. She glanced at it in surprise, as if she’d just noticed its existence, and then shook her head. He smiled and sat, waiting for the brief moment of the practiced flirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He turned and smiled, that smile that Nathan always used to say drove the girls wild. “ _ Major _ Benjamin Tallmadge, at your service.” Yes, let the rank and his epaulettes impress her a little.

 

She gave a startled hiccup and sat up a little straighter. “Miss Rebecca Franks,” she said, clearly a little taken aback.

 

“Miss Franks. It is an uncommonly nice party, is it not? We have been so starved for entertainment these past few months -- it is a relief to see so many pretty girls all in one place.” He wasn’t sure who this smiling charmer he was pretending to be was, or where he came from -- it felt like a little bit of Nathan and a little of his brother Samuel, pulling all the girls behind the barn at village dances. It certainly wasn’t him.

 

Becky sat up a little straighter, smiling a little more at being implied to be among the ‘many pretty girls.’ “This is a poor Philadelphia party, sir,” she said proudly, an alcoholic waver to her voice. “If you had been here six months ago you would have seen much better.” 

 

“Were the girls prettier six months ago, Miss Franks?” he asked with his assumed air of flirtatious interest, and she laughed nervously. “Then it cannot be a better party.”

 

“Oh, indeed, sir, they were -- and the officers were prettier, too.” 

 

Ben laughed, feeling the punch of the comment in his gut and ignoring it, as he knew Samuel would have done, and carried on as if she’d said nothing to offend him personally. “Oh, you cannot mean that. There are some of the handsomest  men in the Army here tonight -- Captain Brooke, and Captain Avery-- and to say nothing of our host, General Arnold. You cannot think him disagreeable, madam. Miss Shippen suits him so well!”

 

“Not as well as she suited  _ him! _ ” Becky’s response was strangled with emotion, and she drank, hastily, half-draining her glass. “The handsomest man in the British Army,” she corrected, punctuating her thought with a proud little hiccup. “Now, what say you to  _ that,  _ sir?”

 

“That was a rumor at headquarters,” Ben said dismissively. “That she had an admirer. Made to make Arnold angry.”

 

“Fact, sir,” she said, clearly enjoying her position of power over him, taking another sip of her wine. “The handsomest man in the army, and the prettiest....prettiest girl in Philadelphia.” She looked out at the dance floor and at Peggy, obliging yet another one of her admirers. Ben saw her eyes were very full, and did not think she could reasonably blame the wine. 

 

“They told Arnold she was going to marry one of them; he called them all fiends and liars,” Ben said, almost not trying any longer. Becky looked out at the floor, her face pinched and sad, hardly noticing to whom she spoke.

 

“They were so close! She was too good for Andre! And now she is...is...” She stumbled, trying to overcome some great wave of emotion, and then broke out in great gouts of tears, rising tipsily from her seat, practically fleeing from the chairs, leaving Ben to watch her go, hoping no one thought him the perpetrator of some heinous abuse of her person.

 

It had been too easy -- but there it was. Margaret Shippen and John Andre had been close enough that her intimate friends stood assured of their engagement and eventual marriage. Well, it was easy enough to secure a special licence for such things when one was the adjutant of the British Army! They could very easily have been wed before the British left. So why had Andre deferred, in the face of such a passion? Why had he left her here, among the wolves, to be eaten? For she would be eaten -- she was too pretty to be ignored. Men flocked to her like bees to honey.

 

_ Ah,  _ Ben realized, watching the bees of the ballroom buzz around thier hostess.  _ Maybe he wasn’t abandoning her at all. Maybe he was using her as bait.  _

 

_ But bait for what? _

 

The musicians were beginning another piece, and the floor was empty now, save for the General, and General Arnold, and Miss Shippen, and Mrs. Washington. The Commander in Chief, it seemed, had finally claimed his dance with the hostess, the four of them turning in measured, graceful syncopation. Arnold’s ill temper from earlier seemed gone, but Miss Shippen was still the same -- still brittle and blank, all airs and put-on graces, while Arnold glanced sideways at her, calf-eyed as his gaze followed her.

 

Ben shook his head.  _ Peggy Shippen, what game are you playing here?  _

  
Perhaps Martha would offer some insight. The thoughts in Ben’s mind were too terrible to name.

**Author's Note:**

> A collaborative writing piece between myself and Amelie la Parapluie based on a need for more Martha Washington in general and more Mom!Washington specifically. Because someone needs to help Ben get his shit together and I don’t think it’s going to be George. Plus, as much as Ben admires GWash, I think he’s a little in awe of Mrs. GWash, and would be more inclined to take her advice.
> 
> Initially this piece was going to be a little bit more about Ben and Sarah, and having Martha give her two cents worth of excellent advice on romantic matters that Ben was going to present in a very roundabout "So, I have this friend" way but, as the chance in any collaboration, the story went in a slightly different direction and we both just ran with it!
> 
> Hopefully you all enjoyed it!


End file.
